Title: A Simple Bard Indeed

Fandom: J.R.R. Tolkien

Characters: Macalaurë Fëanorian, Findekáno

Prompt: 008. Weeks

Word Count: 3024

Rating: PG-13 for some reference to homosexuality

Summary: Macalaurë shows the world his ruthless side while showing that he is more than just a simple bard.

Author's Notes: I was quite sick of Macalaurë being portrayed only as an angsty wanderer. This highlights the ruthless and cunning Fëanorian in him.

"Let me though."

"My Lord, I really must insist - "

"Move, young sir, or I will move you." Findekáno was not to be dissuaded by anyone, especially this knobby-kneed youngling who had no idea what he was doing there.

Judging that the eldest son of Nolofinwë was being quite serious, the servant stepped to the side of the entrance to the tent. Findekáno pushed through without hesitation and yelled for his cousin.

"I am in here, Káno." The son of Fëanor called from an adjoining room, his voice sounding tired and submissive. "You need not yell, I can hear you well enough. Canvas is not all that substantial."

Findekáno stormed into the smaller, more private part of the tent, used for formulating strategies used to direct troops in battle. It was completely dark within, for the tent was covered with cloths to provide even more privacy when needed. Only the small entrance let in a single streak of light in to illuminate a portion of a makeshift table. At the moment, though, this room also served as the Regent's quarters. Findekáno slammed his fists down on the hardwood panels of the desk. "What in Eru's name do you think you are doing, Macalaurë? Maitimo has been missing for nigh on two months, and thus far you have done nothing about it!" Unaffected by this display of anger, his older cousin continued to stare into space. "Why do you not send anyone to find him!"

"Who?"

"Your brother!"

"I know that, Káno. Who am I to send?"

"The obvious-"

"And that is…?"

"The army! Aside from your own and most likely Maitimo's battalion, you have the entire Noldorin force at your disposal – use it!"

"For what?" Though his cousin was violent and loud, Macalaurë remained stoic.

"Must we go in circles like this, Macalaurë? This is no time for fun and games."

"I am not making a joke out of this situation, cousin. It is far too serious."

"I am glad you have finally figured that out," Findekáno said with acid and malice.

The son of Fëanor met his gaze. He could deal with criticism of his actions, but a blow to his intelligence was going one step too far, even when it was called for, which this was not.

"Which would you prefer that I use the army for, defense of our crumbling borders or sending them on an offense to who knows where to search for a single elf?"

"That elf is your brother."

"That makes no difference." Macalaurë picked up an eagle-feather quill and pretended to become quite interested in it.

"What are you saying?" Findekáno questioned, reaching across the desk and grabbing the quill from Macalaurë. "That he would not search for you? I know he would."

"Not if it put thousands of lives at stake. I do not value my life, or my brothers' lives, above that of an entire army. I would not send them to death for that. I would not want that, to have so many lives wasted for my own. Nor would he. You should know that."

"But we cannot stay and solely defend the camps too much longer, the soldiers grow bored and lazy."

Macalaurë chose not to respond to his cousin. "Saying that I choose to mobilize the troops, where am I to 'dispose' of them?"

Findekáno had the feeling that he was gaining some ground. "Maitimo was captured by Morgoth, correct?"

"I suppose so." Macalaurë shrugged, now picking up a wax stylus. He then proceeded to play with it.

"You were there." Káno pointed out, using the quill for emphasis. He was now calmer than before, presenting a sophisticated elf who thought things through instead of one who acted on a whim.

Macalaurë stopped playing, his eyes darting to his half-cousin. "So were you." He made the same motion with the stylus as Findekáno had with the quill.

The elf nodded. "Of course."

Macalaurë stared at Findekáno, refusing to say anything further until he received another, more direct answer to a previous question.

Findekáno huffed a sigh. "Fine. Angband."

"Where?"

"I just said Angband. I do hate to repeat myself, Macalaurë."

"I heard you the first time. You did not need to say it a second time, cousin. Where, exactly, in Angband? It is, after all, a very big place. Is he in the pit of the darkest dungeon? Or has Morgoth strung him from the top of some mountain somewhere in ridicule? To be more precise, can you tell me his position within five feet?"

"Of course not. That is an absurd question."

Macalaurë sat up, bringing his face into the sunlight. "Furthermore, can you tell me definitively that he is alive? His entire guard was killed – none have returned, alive or otherwise – so who's to say he was not also killed? Have you received some sort of correspondence from him confirming his health or providing us with his location? If so, I would that I also read it."

Findekáno rolled his eyes, but his façade changed to plaintive. "No, Macalaurë, I have not received anything from him, but I know in my heart that he lives." He put a fist to his chest.

The Regent looked at the son of Nolofinwë in the same way a mother would look at a tear struck child holding a dead bird and asking what happened. "I can do nothing Findekáno, no matter what your heart says. Something so volatile as love can easily be blind. Especially in situations such as this."

"Just because you have had no luck in love, Macalaurë, does not merit you to divide those that have! Love is a sacred and beautiful thing."

"And did your lover remember you when he left you behind in Araman? Or when we set those ships on fire? He laughed at the idiocy of Nolofinwë and Arafinwë's hosts just the same as the rest of us did." Macalaurë defended, standing up and glaring at Findekáno with all the malevolence of a ruler who has been questioned one too many times.

"I do not believe you."

Macalaurë could feel his anger rising, and struggled to keep his temper. Damn Fëanorian blood. When he spoke, his words were metered and even. "Do not call me a liar, Findekáno. My fëa may be damned for what I have done, and I am the first to admit that I am a wicked person, but I am not a liar."

Findekáno slumped in his chair.

"No, I know that, Macalaurë. But he is alive; I know he is. He just has to be."

"You are certain? Would you bet your own life on it? Bear this in mind, cousin, Morgoth took him. The chances are very slim that he has survived this long."

"Although I cannot, without hesitation, say he is still alive, I would give my life for his in a second." Findekáno acknowledged quietly. "He would do the same for me."

Macalaurë's voice quieted. "Findekáno, I can not act on uncertainty, you know that. Any amount of doubt does not justify risking the lives of others. They have families too, and preserving their lives now saves them for the future."

"But you must do something!" Findekano began to pace across the room. He was starting to believe that saving Maitimo was beyond hope.

"Findekáno, sit down." Macalaurë's tone tough and influential.

"No."

"You don't have a choice."

Findekáno stopped and looked at his cousin. Macalaurë was still in his seat, though he had leaned forward into the beam of sunlight, and on his face bore the look of one who will exercise what executive power he has while he has it. He did indeed look quite formidable and strong, his face set in stone, the opposite to his normal modest and unimposing self.

Findekáno moved towards the doorway.

Macalaurë stood up. "Findekáno. Sit down." He was not to be disobeyed, especially by this elf who dared insult him two times in the last five minutes. Compelled now, Findekáno returned to sit on an old tree stump across the desk from Macalaurë. Fëanor's second son also sat back down, his face again swathed in shadow. He drew his fingers to a peak, on which he rested his chin. His hands were pale and gaunt in the dim light, giving him a haunted, wraithlike appearance, one which Findekáno could barely make out.

"You have spent too much time around my brother." Macalaurë commented after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, apparently having returned to his normal laid-back character. "You act more like a son of Fëanor every day. That is not a comforting thought…." He trailed off, casting his contemplative gaze to the ground.

"You have not thought of my position in this, Findekáno. Maitimo is my brother, the only one that has ever regularly acted as such. Throughout my childhood I looked up to him as a role model, and for good reason. He was different than the rest of our family, but then again, so was I. I loved art and music, and he loved you; the rest of our brothers only cared about themselves or what petty bauble they made at the forge that day. Believe me, if I could I would go after him myself, even lead a search party… but I cannot."

"Why not?"

Macalaurë let out a derisive laugh. "Come now, Findekáno. You know everything is politics in this ruling business. If I left this palace" he laughed at his surroundings "for even a day, there would be nothing stopping Turkafinwë from bypassing both Maitimo and myself and taking the crown for himself. I will not let that happen. I am truly afraid of what he would do if given command of our armies, Findekáno."

"You do not trust your own brother?"

"Would you trust him?" Not pausing long enough to let the son of Nolofinwë answer, Macalaurë continued. "Think of this, cousin. The extent of your relationship with Maitimo is no secret to my brothers or myself. Such a thing is impossible to keep from one's siblings, no matter how careful a person may be." Findekáno shifted in his chair. "Do you think Turka would send a search party for Maitimo knowing it would make you happy? No; he has hated you for as long as he can probably remember. I know for a fact that he is planning to announce our brother's death quite soon, thereby putting me, as Regent and next in line for the throne, in a tougher position than I am already in. While my brother is still 'alive' in the people's eyes, I can stall and avoid the crown. When Turka makes the 'death' open to the public, I cannot play that game any longer. My dear younger brother knows full well what I am doing and has called my bluff, as it were. When Maitimo is officially pronounced as dead, I must do one of two things: either take the crown that should not ever touch the head of one of the Seven Sons, or pass it on to Turkafinwë. Obviously, he desperately hopes that I will abdicate." Macalaurë studied his cousin for a moment as if to judge him ready for a particular piece of information, before adding, "and that is exactly what I plan on doing."

Findekáno's mind flew with the possibilities, and he stood up again, this time from shock. "No! Macalaurë, what are you thinking?"

Well hidden within the shadow, Macalaurë grinned. "Ah, but he thinks of me as only a simple-minded bard, you see. And though that is indeed what I am, I am not as simple as he believes. It may be my undoing in the end, I do not know. There is time yet – a few days at least, perhaps as much as a few weeks (it depends on how long Turka wishes to sit on his speech). So listen to me." Findekáno stared at him. "Trust me cousin, all will turn out for the best." Macalaurë tried to reassure him.

"Are you mad?"

The Fëanorian weighed this in his mind with a chuckle. "There is a distinct possibility that I may be. But just listen to what I have to say."

The other nodded. If he indeed had a plan to find Maitimo, no matter how ludicrous, then he would at least hear it out.

Macalaurë's grin widened, knowing Findekáno could not see his face. "I truly believe that Maitimo is alive, just like you do. I know in my heart and soul that he will return home to us alive." Macalaurë's tone was confident and reassuring. Like oil, it seeped through Findekáno, calming his nerves and bending him to Macalaurë's will, much like Fëanor had done to the Noldor so many years beforehand. It was the few times like these that Macalaurë was proud of his heritage. "So, you see, that is where I will call my dear younger brother's bluff. If he falsely announces to the people that Maitimo is dead, he will be thrown into immediate and complete disfavor in the people's eyes when a living Maitimo walks among them once again in the market. So in the end, he will be King, you will have your lover back, Turkafinwë will be of no threat for quite a long time, and I, completely devoid of any power and free from concern for the crown, will be out of the public scene once again."

Findekáno looked nonplussed. "Always thinking of yourself first, I see. There are two major problems with your plan, cousin. You do have four other brothers, surely you have not forgotten about them?"

"No, of course not. Moryo and Kurvo will be of no consequence when Turka is gone, and the Twins are of like mind to myself."

"So you say."

"They are. Trust me."

"I seem to be doing a lot of that right now. That is something I have never had to do before."

"Have I given you any reason not to trust me?" Macalaurë's voice lost some of its self-assurance. Findekáno remained silent. "And what was the other problem with my plan?"

"Maitimo's return."

"Aha! In that you are undeniably correct, dear cousin. He is the sole catch in my otherwise flawless plan, if I do say so myself." He sighed with a theatricality that went unnoticed by his younger cousin. "For him I can do nothing but hope that he will come back to us unscathed at the precise time that Turka will make that announcement I was speaking of."

"You are far too idealistic." Findekáno sounded distinctly unimpressed.

Macalaurë grinned internally. "And why do you say that?"

"You made all that up, did you not?"

Macalaurë let out a braying laugh and slapped the desk in front of him, sending inkpots and quills jumping. "Very good Findekáno! You have truly become most clever. I did indeed make that entire plan up just this moment. I must discover a new way to put double meaning into my words. Before I know it, you will have figured that out too. But, putting that aside, that plan will just have to work."

"Why, what are you saying?"

"Turkafinwë is indeed preparing to declare Maitimo's demise." Macalaurë let his clever cousin figure out the rest.

"And you really aren't going to do anything?" Findekáno choked out after a moment, thinking – like he was supposed to – that all hope was lost.

"I am glad you have finally figured that out as well," In a sardonic voice, Macalaurë repeated Findekáno's earlier words.

"As I said before, this is no time for jokes."

"Nor is it the time to repeat entire conversations. I really hate repeating myself, do you not?"

This insolent, sarcastic and grating answer finally threw an already emotional Findekáno over the edge. "You are hopeless, Macalaurë! If you will do nothing to help your own brother, then I will!" He threw the tent flap back and rushed out into the bright sunlight. Still seated, Macalaurë raised a hand in front of his face to shield his eyes.

He got up and looked out the door to see Findekáno stalking away at a very good pace. Macalaurë felt guilty about this, really, he did. He hated himself for tricking his cousin into searching for Maitimo. But, to be honest, he already hated himself for doing so many things… how much was one more black mark on his already damned fëa going to change things? And all that aside, what else was there for him to do? He surely would not have bowed down to ask Findekáno for help, Macalaurë was far too proud for that.

He was a son of Fëanor, after all.

After a few minutes, Macalaurë called for a servant with a snap of his long and flexible fingers. The same ellon that tried to stop Findekáno from entering sped into the room and presented an awkward, unpracticed bow. He then obediently moved closer when Macalaurë beckoned. He stumbled slightly on a root that had gone unseen in the darkness.

The Noldorin Prince took no notice of the elfling's mishap, partly because he had tripped on the same root earlier that day when he first woke up. "Meldaquen, I want you to tail Lord Findekáno as closely as you can. But do be very careful, young one, he is very intelligent and observant, and is doubtless quite angry. I would not wish to cross him at this moment. Do you understand me?"

The ellon gulped, his nerves tensing up terribly at the thought of having to follow the imposing elf that threatened to "move him" earlier that day. He told himself that he would not get caught under any circumstances. "Yes, My Lord. I will follow the Lord Findekáno at a very safe distance."

Macalaurë smiled. "Come to me immediately when he leaves the camp."

"I will, Lord."

"That is all."

Meldaquen bowed again, and turned towards the door.

"Oh, and Meldaquen…?" Macalaurë called to him. "Tell my brother Turkafinwë that he has my permission to present his speech in exactly three weeks time."